Goodnight My Angel
by mywarisalreadywon
Summary: Snapshots of moments where Dean just needs a hug from his mom. Rated T to be safe. Oneshot.


**Again, I have time in between classes, so I'm gonna see how much of my writing I can get typed. The song lyrics were from Goodnight My Angel by the Celtic Women or Billy Joel (There are two versions, but this one fits more with the women's version). Warnings for talk of prostitution, but it's not explicit or anything. **

* * *

Dean was at his wits end. Nothing was working. For such a tiny four year old, Sam sure was loud…and stubborn. Nothing Dean did would ease Sammy into sleep. Not even Hey Jude was working tonight. He knew Sammy was hungry, but he couldn't do anything to fix that. This dingy motel room had nothing of comfort to offer these two little boys. Dean huddled close to Sammy, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around his little brother. Dean looked out of the only window in the room and wished he could see the stars. The rain and clouds blocked them from his view. The soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof would be comforting if not for the whining child in his arms. He mumbled something to Sam about the bathroom before rushing off of the scratchy sheets. He locked the door behind him and curled up in a ball in the tub. Struck by a sudden sense of hopelessness and misery, he tried to pull himself back together. He let the tears seep from his eyes as he wished to go home, back in time to when his mom was alive and he didn't have to take care of both his father and his brother; to the time where his dad gave hugs instead of orders and he actually laughed. Dean felt a soft warmth come over him, like a big hug. He subconsciously leaned into the warmth and kept his eyes closed. He felt safe here, and took a deep breath. The scent of fresh bread and clean sheets surrounded him. He opened his eyes to find himself alone, but he knew his mother was here with him. Sammy was still pouting on the bed, but Dean wrapped his arms around him anyway, holding him close. Dean started humming softly to Sam, who dropped off within minutes.

* * *

Goodnight, my angel,

Time to close your eyes,

And save these questions for another day.

I think I know what you've been asking me,

I think you know what I've been trying to say.

I promised I would never leave you,

And you should always know,

Wherever you may go,

No matter where you are,

I never will be far away.

* * *

Dean walked back to the shithole motel room that was home for the week, his wallet a little heavier and his skin a lot dirtier. He couldn't stop running his hands over his bare arms, even though it was warm out tonight and he should be used to feeling like this. Thanks to years of practice, he also knew that he'd relive it all in his dreams tonight. He'd probably shower again in the morning, but it wouldn't make him feel any cleaner. He could still feel skin brushing where his clothes now covered. He could feel hands rubbing across his arms and chest before they moved on and started grabbing and clutching. He could feel hot breath ghosting across his face and neck. His thoughts somehow drifted to his mother as he reached for the motel room door. It had been fourteen years, but it still felt like he lost her only yesterday. Sam was sitting on his bed reading a book when Dean closed the door, setting a bag of groceries on the nearby table. Sam looked up at Dean and pretended not to notice the tousled hair and rumple clothes.

"Have fun at Amanda's?" Sam asked. Right, Amanda, the head cheerleader at Sam's school who had shown quite a bit of interest in the new kid's drop-out brother. Dean had told Sam that he was going to her place and Sam had accepted it.

Too bad he hadn't seen Amanda tonight.

Dean grunted in response to Sam's question and headed to the bathroom to get a shower. He stripped down and hopped in, cranking the water as hot as it would go. He scrubbed viciously at his skin until it turned bright red, and he hoped it might scrub the deeds off of him. When he got out and walked back into the main room, Sam looked at him questioningly before getting back to his book. Dean threw on a t-shirt and some sweatpants before crawling under the scratchy covers and keeping his back to Sam. Sam set the book down and turned to look at Dean fully.

"Okay, Dean, what's going on? Since when do you come home from a date with a pretty girls at her house where you've _clearly _been having a good time, and not eat dinner or brag about said date for an hour?" Sam asked.

"I'm not hungry," Dean said flatly, still facing the door.

"Since _when_?"

"Dammit, Sam! I'm just not hungry! There doesn't have to be a reason for every damn thing I do or feel!" Dean snapped. He realized he was gripping the sheets so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, so he let go and tried to calm himself down. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he tried to regain his composure.

"Okay," Sam said, seeing how unstable Dean was right then.

Later that night, when Dean was sure Sam was asleep, he let himself cry. He let the tears flow from his eyes in a silent cry for help. He felt a pair of warm arms wrap around him and was about to yell at Sam to go back to his own bed when he caught the scent of freshly baked bread and clean sheets. He heard the soft tune being hummed in his ear. He leaned into the warmth and let himself be comforted.

* * *

Goodnight my angel,

Now it's time to sleep,

And still so many things I want to say.

Remember all the songs you sang for me,

When we went sailing on a emerald bay.

And like a boat out on the ocean,

I'm rocking you to sleep.

The water is dark and deep inside this mother's heart,

You'll always be a part of me.

* * *

Sam was at his wits end. Dean had gotten sick and riding it out didn't seem to be working. Dean's fever reached 103.4, and Sam decided to try some prescription stuff. He shut the door behind him and hoped that his delusional brother didn't get into any trouble while he was gone.

* * *

Dean wanted to go outside. He knew he was supposed to stay inside, and he was supposed to be resting, but he didn't feel like resting. He felt like going outside. Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, a voice called out to him.

"Dean, baby, come back over here." He looked behind him to see a beautiful woman with long blonde hair sitting at the end of his bed.

"Mama?" His rough voice must have carried over to her, because she nodded and patted the bed, smiling. He staggered over to her on shaky legs and collapsed beside her. He lay back against the pillows and she pushed the damp hair off of his forehead. She kissed his cheek and he found his eyes closing.

"Love you, mom," he whispered. She stroked his face with cool fingers.

"I love you too, angel." Her cool fingers ghosted over his fevered skin, cooling his temperature down. He sighed and slipped into a deep sleep.

When Sam returned, Dean's temperature was normal and there was a look of content on his sleeping face. Sam sighed and absentmindedly wondered why the room smelled like fresh bread and clean sheets.

Goodnight my angel,

Now it's time to dream,

And dream how wonderful your life will be.

Some day a child may cry and if you sing this lullaby,

Then in your heart there will always be a part of me.

* * *

**FIN**


End file.
